


The Festive Smell of Smoke in the Kitchen

by katmarajade



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Clumsiness, F/M, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 02:47:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1329022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katmarajade/pseuds/katmarajade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is an unspoken house rule that Tonks is not to play with fire, but in the spirit of Christmas she's willing to overlook that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Festive Smell of Smoke in the Kitchen

The smell of smoke was his first clue. The loud burst of colorful swearing was his second.

Unfolding his long legs from underneath the tiny dining room table that his short fiancée adored, he bounded into the kitchen, covering the distance in four long strides.

Tonks stood in front of the counter, waving a wooden spoon frantically at a pan that was shooting out four-foot-tall flames.

"May I?" He asked dryly, watching her startle and drop the spoon.

"No, don't! You'll ruin dessert! I made one of those, eeps!" She squeaked as a large flame jumped. "One of those flaming puddings. Thought it'd be, yanno, festive."

"Well, you got the flaming part right." A flick of his wrist and a well-practiced whispered word placed an invisible protective barrier around the fire. He used the spell on the job when they were going to inspect something dangerous, which was rather often. At least this way the fire would remain contained while Tonks explained, in what was sure to be hilarious logic, why the huge kitchen fire should not be extinguished.

She waved her hand at the heavily smoking pudding. Bill sighed and grabbed her wand from the opposite counter.

"I find that these work better than your average slotted spoon," he teased gently.

She looked down at the wand in her hand and sighed heavily. Lip wobbling slightly and chin thrust up in the air to hide her suspiciously shiny eyes, Tonks finally doused the flames with an easy _Aguamenti._

They stared at the drenched, blackened pudding in mutual silence for a full minute.

"Any chance of you eating that?" She tried.

"No," Bill said seriously. "That's potentially cursed material. Proper protocol requires it to be contained until it can be inspected thoroughly and safely disposed.

"Oh, shut your face!" She shot back with a laugh, shoving him.

"It looks positively awful, Tonks," he said, snaking an arm around her waist and running his thumb along her pouting mouth. "However, _you_ look more delicious than ever."

He let his gaze sweep up and down appreciatively, enjoying the smear of flour on her left cheek, the soot mixed with sweat on her forehead, and the now-dingy little apron that hung at a strange angle across her full hips.

Her pink hair pulsed magenta as she watched his eyes, and he could see her cheeks flushing underneath the soot and random bits of baking ingredients.

Blushing Tonks was one of his favorite sights in the entire world. His amazing fiancée was a seasoned Auror, held her own in bar fights and vicious duels, and swore with such colorful and foul language that she made Mundungus Fletcher look like a priest. So the sight of a pretty, demure-seeming blush was deliciously incongruous and it gave him a swirl of cocky male pride in his chest whenever he could elicit it.

With quick, practiced hands, he pulled off her Weird Sisters t-shirt and pushed down her jeans.

She made to untie the apron, but he stilled her hands, pushing it up to take a peek and letting it flutter back down. It barely covered her, plenty of fleshy hip visible on either side, and he let out a chuckle at the hilarity of this appearance of domesticity.

She pushed him against the counter not covered with soggy, charred baked goods and gave him a saucy wink. Bill promptly forgot about the failed pudding and the unspoken house rule that Tonks was not to play with fire.

That bold, sexy, confident wink tended to make him forget pretty much anything except touching every inch of Tonks he could get his hands on and filled his belly with the familiar fire of want.

He'd choose this over pudding any day.


End file.
